Like a light, summer wine, Sideways might trick you into tasting something that isn't really there at all. Yes, the film features a few passing notes of complexity—a soft examination of depression, a passing glance at regret—but these dissolve neatly by the movie's (not so) surprising final turn. Happily, however, Sideways indulges on character charm and sharp dialogue, each just clever enough to win over viticultural skeptics. You'll feel tricked, though never conned. Wine is more about experience than taste, after all.
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Following Skyfall's release, Ben heard or read perspectives matching all 12 of the following reviews. His favorite part? Regardless of argument, everyone cited the same evidence. In that spirit, 12 reviews of the latest Bond... (plus stay tuned for Ben's actual opinion, mentioned at the end).
1. Skyfall Succeeds on Daniel Craig's Back A close reader of TheCroakingFrog might conclude I value character over plot. In my 2012 overall rankings, Argo—the tautest plot of the year—lost out to Django Unchained, an undisciplined story with impossibly compelling characters. I might have concluded the same until last night. The Master changed my mind, and it might change yours as well.
Like Up and Minority Report before it, Looper begins with tantalizing promise, only to squander its clever premise with cautious plotting and routine resolutions. Unlike its prodigal predecessors, however, Looper remains wayward to its very end. A shame Looper's time machines haven't been invented yet; I'd love to return to the film's first act and pretend the rest never happens. Of course, if I haven't gone back to stop myself from watching it yet, it stands to reason I never will. (Or never did?)
Some books don’t work as movies. The Great Gatsby, a fine American novel, has floundered (multiple times) on the silver screen. The Chronicles of Narnia never recovered from William Moseley’s sanctimonious portrayal of Peter Pevensie. The Da Vinci Code (an electrifying, if formulaic, book) remains Tom Hanks’ worst outing since T̶u̶r̶n̶e̶r̶ ̶&̶ ̶H̶o̶o̶c̶h̶ ̶(̶1̶9̶8̶9̶)̶ The Bonfire of the Vanities (1990). Life of Pi spends the tiger’s share of its two-hour runtime flirting with a similar fate, but through masterful cinematography, dodges its doom.
At first, I wasn't impressed. Sure, The Artist's silent-film shtick was cute—even clever—but clever in that same gimmicky way that my "Top 10" posts are clever. And this thing won the Oscar for Best Picture for Hollywood's sake. I know its fans will hate to hear this, but I do believe a few cinematic contrivances—a foreign language, black-and-white, silence—artificially inflate a movie's quality. I mean, Amelie was good, though not worthy of Shakespeare.
Mention “Pixar” at any work party, bar night, or Dr. Phil book club, and you’ll soon receive a barrage of extemporaneous opinion. Finding Nemo will be praised for its aquatic wizardry and funky (read: irritating) sidekicks. Toy Story will be heralded as the greatest piece of filmmaking since The Godfather. An insightful conversation about Up will begin with promise, then devolve into 10 minutes of Dug quotes, including at least seven people shouting, “Squirrel!” just as the party seems to be getting back on track. Even Brave (often criticized as mediocre) will receive a titter of appreciative mumblings. Ironically, Pixar’s best, deepest piece of cinema will almost certainly go unnamed. Such is the plight of Ratatouille, misunderstood, forgotten, and unjustly cast aside.
Disjointed, uncomfortable, and at times deeply troubling, Zero Dark Thirty burns slowly at first, steadily cackling into a fierce cinematic experience. Director Kathryn Bigelow (The Hurt Locker) seizes our attention up front—a CIA black site, a tense interrogation—before releasing her grip, just a bit, daring us to exhale. Bigelow’s style, at once playful and menacing, strikes a sharp contrast with the meandering Lincoln and airtight Argo. It’s riskier, scarier, more determined, and ultimately, more successful.
Every friend group, class, or office has that one brazenly honest individual. There’s a lot to like about this person. She’s the first to tell you you’re dating the wrong girl, the quickest to criticize your bad presentation, and the only one to respond stone-faced to your bad joke amidst fake, polite laughter. But her uncompromising pursuit of authenticity sometimes goes too far. She observes a child’s drawing, then points out its flaws. As a picture of a coworker’s newborn circulates the office, she loudly announces she doesn’t like babies. In the right doses, her honesty is something to celebrate, but too much at once can crush the soul of an otherwise cheery gathering.
Argo, the most entertaining film of 2012, displays Ben Affleck’s tight control (as director) and aloofness (as actor). In the end, he probably overdoes it just a bit on both counts. Among his directorial liberties: an over-dramatized final sequence, a shirtless hotel room shot, and a full, bushy beard Santa Claus himself couldn’t grow. Among his acting faux paus: refusing to cast Keanu Reeves, who does effortless detachment better than anyone in Hollywood. (Affleck is intriguingly detached throughout, but looks about ready to snap into his famous Boiler Room speech at all times. Somehow, his perfectly white teeth remained clenched.)
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TheCroakingFrog
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